Shadow
by wndrw8
Summary: "What?" He smirks. "Didn't you once tell me it wasn't personal?"


There's a twin bed in the corner—grey, scratchy blanket over bleached out sheets. One pillow. Bottles of Jameson litter the floor around it and a pack of Newports rests next to an open window. Twelve years is a lifetime and Brian Cassidy is changed almost beyond recognition. Olivia wonders if it's because of the undercover work, or if it's just the nature of the work itself.

Twelve years.

He's standing close so when she turns, she bumps into him. Beer sloshes out from the can in his hands and she can smell the cigarette smoke on him. "Brian…"

"People are watching me."

"I understand that."

"They know you're a cop."

She sighs and her hand goes to her head, her skin burning with the tequila. She shouldn't have agreed to meet him at a bar. They should've met at the precinct, somewhere safe. Now she's drunk on the clock and they are almost back to where they left off all those years ago. "Cragen's being framed for Carissa's murder."

"Carissa's dead?"

"Don't play dumb. I know you've been watching."

He shakes his head. "Ganzel told me to steer clear for a while."

"You were—"

"The only person I've been watching is you, Olivia." He finishes the Budweiser and then crumples the can in his hand. "You really pissed Delia off."

"Yeah, I'm going after her."

"The hell you are."

He brushes past her and the sudden movement makes her feel like the room is spinning. She stops him, puts a hand on his chest. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Delia would crush you."

"I doubt it."

"Then you don't know who you're dealing with."

Since when? She almost can't believe the words that are spewing from his mouth. She looks at him—at the wrinkles that linger around his eyes and the way his skin has grown rough from the sun. He looks worn and she wonders if she looks the same. "You think you know everything now? Don't forget, I was there when you were _green_, Cassidy."

"Green, huh?"

"Wet behind the ears."

"Fucking spare me. You were just as bad."

He says the words and they bite, but no emotion crosses his face. Is this what ten plus years on the job does? She wonders if he spars with everyone like this now. She licks her lips, feels the heat prickling along her skin.

"Why'd you agree to meet me at the bar? You want a quick fuck in the bathroom?"

"You know that's not—"

"Then, what?"

She stills. It's taking all of her control to not hit him right now and, fuck, deep down she knows he's right. She's reaching here—reaching back to when they were young and beautiful and could have casual sex and still be on the job together like nothing.

Everything has changed.

A breeze filters in through the window. How many drinks did she have? She knew she should've stayed away from hard alcohol, but there was this temptation she just couldn't deny…

She settles on the edge of the bed.

Cassidy sits down next to her. He takes a cigarette from the pack of Newports and lights it; his leg brushes against hers. "You can't go after Delia. Not by yourself."

"She's behind this and everyone knows."

"Doesn't matter."

_Doesn't matter_. She's heard that so many times, it's actually starting to sink in. Because people have made it impossible for her to stay passionate in this job. The meaning in it has gone and lately she finds herself resting the red tape and rules. Don't go after Y person because there will be X consequence. The bad guys go free sometimes and she's almost to the point where she doesn't care.

She shifts and his weight is heavy next to her.

"Look at yourself," she finally says. "You should retire."

"Why? I'm finally enjoying my job."

"What, smoking weed and screwing hookers all day is your idea of a job well done?"

He doesn't need to answer for them to both know the truth. He's bitter, but he's accepted it. She's bitter, but still fighting.

He sets the cigarette on the window ledge. "You look great. I meant that."

Olivia remembers him peering around at the station to look at her ass and smirks. He'd never have risked that look before.

His arm settles behind her back and he turns so they are almost skin to skin. "I'm serious, Olivia."

"Don't."

"What?" He smirks. "Didn't you once tell me it wasn't personal?"

Not personal? Olivia recoils. The words strike a chord deep within her and all of the discomfort, the insecurities she's dealt with since Elliot left suddenly leap to the surface. She stares at him. "You make me sick."

"Do I?"

He's leaning into her now, so close she can almost feel the rough five o'clock shadow against her neck.

He's an ass. He's a prick. He's undercover but does it even matter? It's been a while since she's had a good fuck and since neither of them are pretending this will go any further, she figures she might as well get her kicks while she can.

Fuck it. Fuck this life, this job.

Olivia tilts her head to the side, letting her hair fall away from her neck and almost immediately his lips are on the skin there. She can feel his teeth, the rough hair on his chin. He scrapes against her and she sighs.

Don't think, she tells herself. Just feel.

He was always good at making her _just feel_.

His hand smoothes across her stomach and her fingers encircle his wrist, guiding them lower. They inch down between her legs. She exhales as his palm rubs up against the fabric of her jeans. _Heat_. She feels something deep inside her belly bloom with warmth as he presses harder.

Her legs widen of their own accord. He's pressing down against her with one hand while his lips are working over her neck. He sucks, bites. She's already wet, been wet since the bar, and the realization hits her hard.

She wanted this from the beginning.

Olivia turns and her breasts brush against his chest. His eyes flicker down, then back up to her lips.

"Let's get you," he whispers into her ear, "out of those clothes."

Don't tell me what to do, she thinks. I control you, remember? I always have.

But tonight is different.

He lays her down along the bed and slowly lowers the zipper to her jeans. He takes his time, his fingers teasing the outside of her panties. He rubs the satin material there until she's trembling. Then he's pulling her jeans down her legs.

The cool night air hits her exposed flesh.

"Brian…"

"Don't."

He kisses her, takes his shirt off and leans down, the stubble on his face brushing against the skin of her inner thigh. She tenses, jerks. When his mouth opens, she feels the heat.

She almost screams and he hasn't even touched her yet.

He tortures her for a little while longer before retreating and her thighs immediately miss the heat. She looks up at him. Her eyes are pleading, but she won't ask. She won't beg. They stare at each other and Olivia has to grab hold of the bar on the side of the bed to keep still.

He won't undo her this easily.

Finally she takes him by the back of his neck and pulls him up so they are eye to eye. Man to woman, detective to detective. Her lips kill his smirk, teeth and lips and tongue meshing together without mercy. Her hand finds the zipper on his pants and she slips inside to run the length of him. His body stiffens.

Good, she thinks. Sweat a little.

He is so hard already, and when she runs her thumb over the head of his dick she feels the warm liquid that's gathered there already.

Her hand grips him tighter, moves the length of him again. He moans. Another time and his body jerks away. Then he's tilting back, resting his pelvis against her and in one fluid motion he rips her tan blouse wide open. The buttons pop off and land on the cold ground with tiny chimes that sound like coins on a metal table. The bra is lands nearby and immediately his mouth is around her nipple. Hot, wet. She smells cigarettes and bourbon, feels the tequila burning in the pit of her stomach.

His dick slips out of her hands and she swears.

"Stay still," he growls.

But she can't. Every time his mouth moves, a bolt of pleasure seizes her body, running straight down into her core. His right hand curls around her panties and with a quick flick of his wrist they're yanked off and bunched in his palm. He puts them in his pants pocket and lowers himself along her body.

She twitches, tries to push against him but he has grown strong over the years. He is no longer the skinny, smiling, wide eyed young man she once knew.

Olivia wants to scream. Her entire body is burning now, fire coursing through her veins like a drug taking hold of her system. She bites her lip. Please, she wants to say, but she'll never give him the satisfaction of knowing how crazy he's making her. Instead she breathes deep. She closes her eyes as his tongue swirls around her nipple and then moves lower. His mouth latches onto the skin near her belly. Then her hipbone, then the sensitive area between her hip and her thigh.

His breath skims over her core and she twists suddenly, her legs slamming shut. Warm hands smooth across her skin and he sees all of her insecurities.

He chuckles. "Gonna make this difficult?"

"Brian…"

"It's me."

"I can't—"

"Just relax. I promise."

For the first time since she saw him at the precinct a few days ago, something honest flickers through his eyes. Olivia sighs. She lets her legs fall open once again and feels her heart throbbing in her core. Then she feels him there, his tongue plunging inside of her, his teeth against her clit and _oh, my, god_, it is too much.

She lets out a guttural moan and her hand moves to her face, trying to stifle her reaction. Don't let him win, don't let him take control, she thinks. But it's too late. The heat is coursing through her body and she finally gives in.

"Please," she whispers.

"What's that, Olivia?"

She hates him. She hates this. She hates the job and how it's changed them and the shadows that they hide in. Olivia grabs his hand. "I want you inside me."

His grin is almost like a snarl. Their mouths fuse together as she pushes his pants down and guides him inside of her. She's tight, and for a moment she holds him to adjust. Instead of fighting her, instead of ramming senselessly inside of her over and over again, he waits. Then when she's ready he starts a slow rhythm. The pit of her stomach grows numb and she has to tear her lips from his to breathe.

"Fuck," he grunts.

His hands go to her wrists and hold them down.

She's struggling to contain herself. Her muscles clench and she struggles against the heat and sweat that threatens to break her when she finally thinks, why the hell bother anymore? Why play it like she didn't want it? Why play it like she's so in control of herself, when she isn't? Olivia knows she is a shadow of who she used to be.

Brian enters her again and she finally lets go.

Her body trembles and she feels his warmth expanding inside of her.

_Not personal_.

She still can't stop shaking. It's a vibration that comes from deep within her, one wrought with pain and fatigue and frustration. She sees herself coming apart.

"Olivia?"

His hand skims over her breast and settles on her heart. Warm, calloused.

She expects him to slip between her legs again but instead he holds her close. He pushes back the hair from her face. He kisses her like he means it and then asks her to stay the night.

"I thought this wasn't personal."

"I couldn't…" he tilts his head. "Not with you."

The smell of cigarettes and bourbon hits her again and she sighs against his lips. Is it real? Does he even feel anything anymore? It's hard to tell. She looks into Brian's eyes, really looks, and all she sees reflected back is herself.


End file.
